To Mr. Creeper: My eyes are my own; I got them from my mother and father, who both have fairly nice eyes. I know that the sky blue of my irises is nice to look at, and jealousy might spread in someone who, say, doesn’t have any human eyes, but I’d rather they stay in my head thank you very much. Anyway, I don’t think you’d much care for my eyesight – popping contacts in every day would be a bitch, especially when you’re flying through the air at top speeds with the wind drying them out every few seconds. You wouldn’t want to smash into a tree. I was impressed with what you did to Justin Long and Gina Philips in Jeepers Creepers; I had put the film off for a while now because I was scared that just watching it might send you my scent. No, that’s not exactly true; I was more afraid that Jeepers Creepers might be a stale version of roadside terror films with a Creeper that looked hokey. My apologies to you, sir, because I did not know what I was getting into. I guess the two kids in the movie didn’t either. I have to compliment you on your giant camouflage truck. I know a lot of men in my hometown that would love to own that thing, possibly bodies and all. The opening moments of your stalking reminded me a lot of Duel (someone must be a Steven Spielberg fan, eh?); you’re cribbing from excellence, and I admire that. I even dug the fact that you only ran Justin and Gina off the road at first without killing them – you like to toy with prey, and that gives the viewer a rush. You let them come back to your old church to view the bodies, one of the tensest moments in the film and it definitely scared the piss and vinegar out of Justin, because for most of the film he has this look on his face: Still, I find it hard to believe that you didn’t set up some of the events later on. A psychic comes to warn the two kids about their predicament? That seemed a little bit too convenient for a film that had originally started out with Justin and Gina on their own. Once you allow them to make it into town with a bunch of other people, your stalking became less scary because of the company; it was when you had the kids alone that Jeepers Creepers felt really eerie. I also wasn’t a fan of seeing you as much as we did. That tuft of white hair you hold onto so preciously is a little goofy, don’t you think? I understand that it’s hard for balding men to accept the fact that their hair will soon be gone, but most people consider it a showing of bravery to shave it all off. I do like your bat-like looks, though – those membranous wings are pretty gross from the back when you’re eating prisoners, and it makes you more of a threat that you can fly. Still, on your next outing, I must ask that you stop hamming it up so much; your presence is felt with or without you being on-screen. I know you like the oldies, and it’s a nice touch to play a gentle song while torturing someone in a dripping, rundown factory. You have knack for irony; I think you’d be good at sarcasm. While you’re not Shakespeare, you’ve got a poetic sense of justice I can get behind. So Mr. Creeper, I just wanted to write you this letter reminding you of the good that you’re doing every 23 years; then again, I also wanted to let you know how your stalking skills could be put to better use. I’m actually recruiting right now if you’re interested and you have the time; we make big money, and you have fun torturing people. We’ve had our problems in the past with people chickening out or stronger men escaping, but with you on our side, I have a feeling we can’t lose. Eli Roth sends his best wishes. Please email me at firstname.lastname@example.org for more info about this amazing offer. Sincerely, [Name omitted] Sorry, I’d rather not put you onto my scent. I’ve even perfumed this letter.